


It always ends on a rooftop

by Iithril



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gala Evening, M/M, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27324277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iithril/pseuds/Iithril
Summary: Frank is invited to a charity gala with Matt, which implies wearing a suit and talking to strangers.Unsurprisingly, it doesn't go as planned.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 9
Kudos: 69
Collections: Daredevil Bingo, Fratt Week





	It always ends on a rooftop

**Author's Note:**

> Originally created for _Suit_ , one of the prompt of Fratt Week 2, but wasn't finished in time, so here it is on _Free Day_ of Fratt Week 3! It also fills the Daredevil Bingo's prompt _more comfortable with the cheap stuff_
> 
> A huge thanks to [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/) for organising this event and giving us the opportunity to create more Fratt content! 
> 
> And as always, a million thanks to my fantastic beta, [EachPeachPearPlum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum/) who answered my call once again!

“Well, back then, going from the orange suit to just a shirt and a vest was a huge improvement, so…”

“Foggy told me you looked better than me, and that you weren’t even wearing a suit. Would you consider wearing one for me, Frank?”

Karen, Foggy, and now Matt, they had all talked about it one way or another. Even David had acknowledged Frank was a threat when he was well-dressed, on that one day he had gone to a dinner with the Lieberman family.

The thing was, Frank didn’t like wearing fancy suits. One, it reminded him of bitter betrayal and bad memories and black birds. And a bygone era. Two, he had a tendency to get dirty – not his own fault half of the time, but hey, clothes still ended up ripped or stained, if not worse. Three, he didn’t exactly have the necessary funds to afford expensive clothes, especially considering point two. Cheaper clothes were more appropriate for his way of life.

So he had just declined most propositions made to him. He had borrowed one of Matt’s suits, unbeknownst to the man, when he had had to go to the Lieberman’s dinner, and that was all. Most of the time, he wore basic black clothes, the vast majority of them sportswear, or shamelessly took some of Matt’s. He sometimes agreed to wear what Matt called his “lumberjack shirt”, because the man loved to run his fingers over it – and even Karen complimented him, so he couldn’t exactly complain. 

But when Matt, of all people, had asked him to be his partner for a fancy kind of charity gala he and Foggy had been invited to, Frank had found himself at a dead end. He had laughed it off at first, saying that Matt could go with Karen, who would be delighted to accompany him as she would have opportunities to create some contacts. 

Problem was, Matt the ever clever had answered, Karen was part of the journalist coverage of the gala, she couldn’t join. And Foggy had chosen to go with his girlfriend for once.

Which led to Frank being in the changing room of a not-too-fancy shop, trying on shirts and vests. As far as he was concerned, he would have gone with his usual look, perhaps a clean pair of jeans to make a good impression. He would have loved to see all those people’s faces, their indignation. Not that he cared, but that would have been fun. 

Part of him, though, kinda wanted to try a new look. Matt couldn’t see him, but he could sense the reactions of the people around, and he enjoyed making Frank talk about how he was dressed. To describe the colours, how the shirt fell on his shoulders, the textures. Karen liked to do that for Matt as well. It was a kind of a game, as Matt was slowly building ways to recognise different textures with his senses. He was already quite good, but he wanted to be the best at what he was doing. 

“Frank, are you still in here?” Matt’s concerned voice reached him for afar. The man was slightly concerned about Frank, who had given off signs of frantic uneasiness as soon as he had entered the shop.

“Yeah, Red, still here, don’t worry,” Frank answered, buttoning up the third of the shirts he'd brought into the changing room to try on. It was a pale blue shirt, with a special collar he had already forgotten the name of. Buttons in boxwood, shirt in linen. 

Frank adjusted the collar, still annoyed by how tight it was around his neck, and cast a look at himself in the mirror. 

He definitely didn’t like pale colours. It was impossible to hide stains on them. With a sigh, he unbuttoned it and took it off, careful not to rip it. He grabbed the next one – Jesus Christ, when had he agreed to try four different shirts? Karen and Matt were too persuasive for their own good, sometimes.

That one he liked as soon as it landed on his shoulders. It was a deep blue, still linen, with dark buttons. The fabric felt cold on his skin, but as he buttoned it up, he didn’t feel strangled as he had with the others. He tested his range of movement in the closed space of the changing room, and was satisfied when he found out he could still move. That must have been one of the requirements for Billy’s shirts – he grunted, pushed the thought far away in a dark corner of his mind and turned to the vests. 

After pondering for a few seconds, he went for a semi-long one, with slightly greyish dark colours and matching blue embroidery at the wrists and the shoulders. It felt tailored to him.

As he looked at the stranger in the mirror, memories of when he had first tried on his official uniform surged. Maria had stared at him with pride and love, that day. Had said he was magnificent. 

Christ, had his brain decided to make him sad and angry today? With a pained sigh, Frank averted his eyes from the mirror to make the phantom of the person he had been disappear, took off the vest and shirt and slid back into his comfy, practical clothes, relieved. 

When he came out of his room, pushing the curtain open, he spotted Matt and Karen on the other side of the waiting line, peeping in the direction of the changing rooms, probably trying to see him. Karen whispered something at Matt, who just nodded with a smile, holding tightly to his cane. 

Frank hurried to get back to them, careful not to bump in anyone still waiting. People looked at him as he passed near them, and he couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the attention. His… identity problems had been taken care of, but wariness was still ingrained in him. 

“So, did you find something you liked, or must we head to another shop?” Matt enquired, his tone light and a bit teasing. 

“I found something,” Frank answered simply, before being cut off by Karen. 

“And you didn’t decide to wear it for our approval? How bold of you.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at her. She didn’t falter, just looked back at him without even a smile. He knew she was joking, so he just moved towards the cash register with his selection. Matt outpaced him and paid before he even had the time to make a sound, but he made sure the man could sense his annoyed look.

Once they were outside, Karen decided she was going to wander around the shops to see if she could find anything she liked. Frank and Matt both vehemently but politely declined the offer to join her and went home instead. They had that in common, this desire to be hidden somewhere, to have some time alone and in blessed silence. People tended to be exhausting. 

Later in the evening, as they both sat on the couch, relishing the calm and resting after their draining afternoon, Matt innocently asked, “Are you going to show me what you chose, or will I have to wait till the day of the gala to find out?”

Frank took a second to consider the possible outcomes before answering, “You’re waiting. You can’t guess the colours anyway. But maybe you’ll be able to hear something, right? People will talk, huh?”

Matt let out a good laugh, admitting defeat. Frank almost put his new clothes on his own pile in Matt’s closet but hung them up instead to avoid wrinkles, and they didn’t talk about it till the day of the gala arrived. 

~°~

“Frank, are you ready?”

Matt’s voice was again a bit worried. It was without a doubt justified, as it appeared Frank had phased out while dressing up in his new costume. God knew how long he’d been lost in memory for. Clenching his jaw, he finished buttoning up his sleeves, adjusted his vest and opened the panels. 

Matt was also dressed up for the occasion. Frank had already had the opportunity to see him in more formal attire, as Matt had to wear suits when he was going to court, but it still did a little something to him, seeing his partner clean-shaven, all pretty in his fancy costume, waiting for him with a mix of concern and impatience. 

“I’m here, Red,” Frank said as he closed the panels behind him. He let Matt come to him, slowly walking across the room, and he could see how Matt was trying to detect the sounds, the sensations coming from him, gathering as much information as possible. 

Frank reached out first, placing his hand over Matt’s tie and gently adjusting it. Matt let his fingers hover on Frank’s collar with a feather-like touch which made Frank shiver. He explored his shoulders, feeling the shirt’s seams, and Frank’s steady pulse under it. He descended to the ribs, in a slow and deliberate movement, and Frank was trapped under his gentle touch, standing still in the silence, glaring at Matt, who had closed his eyes but wore a smile that oscillated between teasing and admiration. 

Matt mouthed the number of ribs his fingers caressed, following their valleys and mountains, guessing the scars and all the battles hidden beneath the shirt, all the memories etched into the flesh. His palm went to shape Frank’s abs, and his smile widened when he felt Frank’s muscles contract. “Show off,” Matt whispered, but Frank stayed silent, enthralled. 

Matt slipped his hand to Frank’s hip, fiddling a second with his belt, and then he turned around Frank, playfully following his belt with one finger. He raised an eyebrow when he felt the knife tightly strapped to Frank’s back, but didn’t comment, didn’t do anything to break the spell the silence was casting upon Frank. 

As he was turning around him, Frank looked at him, admiring the play of light and shadow on his face, and felt lucky to have such a beautiful star orbiting around the broken sun he was. Matt finished his rotation, placed himself as a perfect mirror of Frank’s stance, and raised his chin to face him. His hand was slightly open, palm up, an invitation waiting for an agreement. Not pressuring, silently waiting. 

“Ready to go?” 

Matt could have been saying anything else, his voice was the key to Frank’s chains, and Frank stared at the man who offered him freedom, who waited for his consent, and he captured every detail he could. The rebel hair strand falling on his forehead, separated from the others. His eyes, pupils wide open, staring into oblivion. His mouth, closed in a thin smile, waiting for Frank’s reaction. His hands, as callused as Frank’s were, littered with small scars from all the punches he had given and all those he had received. 

Frank’s hand could have been moving on its own, as Frank felt it didn’t belong to him anymore even though he craved for it to move and to rejoin Matt’s. When he held tight Matt’s hand and witnessed his smile widen to reach his eyes, forming small crinkles, Frank found himself smiling too. He pressed tighter, still unable to speak, his voice refusing to obey him, but Matt understood and returned the pressure, before moving along with him to the door, grabbing the keys and guiding Frank out.

Frank drove to the place following Matt’s indications. They didn’t own a fancy car, only Frank’s black truck, but it felt reassuring, somehow, to have this little piece of ordinary in the middle of all the strangeness. To Frank, the truck was a safe haven, a way to get back to Matt’s apartment fast and easy. It was a place to retreat to if things got too hard for him. 

They reached the place way too soon, but Frank would have been unable to describe the route they had taken had someone asked him. He waited for Matt to get out of the truck first, watching as he unfolded his cane and nodded discreetly, before parking the truck and rejoining him. 

He offered his arm for Matt to take, which the man did with a teasing smile. Out there, in those foreign spheres neither of them would venture in too much, Matt was his anchor, his own sun to orbit around. 

But old habits die hard, so he took the time to assess the building. It was an inconspicuous looking high-rise, with just too many windows for Frank’s taste. There was a buzzing crowd in front of the entrance doors, which were wide open and flanked with security guards. When he took notice of them, for a split second, the noise of shattered glass and pained cries echoed in his mind. His fingers trembled, desperate for a trigger to pull, and he took a deep breath, grounding himself with Matt’s gentle hand that was resting on his forearm. 

Matt had told him the charity gala would be on the first three floors, which meant the building had about a dozen other floors devoid of people and noise. A good thing to keep in mind, just in case the gala became too much for either of them. 

They walked closer, their steps synchronized, and Frank grew increasingly uncomfortable. Everything was just so loud, and he suddenly understood how Matt felt when he had a meltdown and needed silence, immediately. He felt like trapped prey going in the lion’s den, and didn’t like it one bit. Journalists were roaming around, and flashes of cameras kept blinding him. He nervously touched his collar, which felt tight around his neck, and focused on examining the place. That he could do, and that would prevent him from going haywire. Right? 

The security guards looked decent, if not professional, but that didn’t mean a lot until he saw them in action. There must be important guests there, because they had brought their personal guards, and – was that an Iron Man suit? 

Frank tilted his head and whispered to Matt, “I think Stark joined the party, there’s one of his fancy toys there.”

Matt subtly searched around until he localised the suit, which was emitting a constant pulse of electricity, and after a second the corner of his lips stretched up. “He’s not hiding in it, at least. Seems like it’s being controlled remotely.”

If Tony Stark himself was joining the party, that explained the amount of security and the ambient nervousness of both the press and guests. It was also slightly weird that he had decided to attend such a local event, he who dealt with foreign gods and aliens, but Frank wasn’t going to complain. All the attention focused on the billionaire was a good thing, because it meant it wouldn’t be on him. 

They reached the front stairs and started to climb, just a little slower than the others around them, to keep up the pretense that Matt’s blindness was a hindrance in new places. They had become quite good at that, pretending. Pretending everything was alright. Pretending they weren’t both always tired, with an unknown yet heavy weight on their shoulders. Pretending they weren’t both waking up drenched in sweat because of nightmares or memories. 

Sometimes, Frank thought the pretense might become reality, because he could sleep peacefully for a few nights, but then something would trigger his memories and he would have to work himself to exhaustion, generally by roaming in town and mentally begging for something to go wrong so that he could jump into the fight. 

But for today, he had to pretend. He could do it. 

They reached the top of the stairs and walked to the entrance doors, preparing their invitations to show to the guards, who checked them thoroughly but didn’t search them any more than they did the other guests. One of them stared for a little bit too long at Frank, but nothing happened and they safely entered the building. 

The first reception room was, as expected, crowded. The ceiling was high enough not to amplify the ambient sounds of conversation, thankfully, and there was gentle music playing from speakers placed all around the room. Two huge staircases led to a balcony, and there were waitstaff everywhere, swirling around with glasses and appetizers, presenting them to anyone looking interested.

“You’re wearing a grey vest and a blue shirt,” Matt suddenly blurted. 

Frank cast an incredulous look at him, then answered, “Let me guess. The guards at the entrance? They warned the others about a guy in grey and blue, is that what it is?”

Matt beamed at him, and nodded with enthusiasm, before adding, “Those are nice colours you chose. I’m impressed.” 

Frank sighed in response, a bit annoyed, but also impressed by Matt’s hearing. It never ceased to amaze him, the range of what he was capable of sensing. “Christ, I knew it was going to be too easy for you.” 

Matt was about to let out yet another sassy remark, but he was interrupted by a waiter who waived his tray right under their nose while asking in a cold tone, “A drink?”

“Well, since you offered so nicely, I and my friend will surely take a drink, thank you,” Matt answered immediately, and Frank smirked when he recognised his attorney voice. Matt’s demeanour shifted too, and with a clumsy, shaking hand, he tried to grab a glass of what looked like champagne, but only managed to spill one of the glasses before the waiter hurriedly took the tray away with a horrified look. 

Matt apologised profusely, and the waiter was about to snap back at him when he seemed to finally take notice of the red glasses perched on Matt’s nose. He stared for a second, mouth open, stammering, and when he regained enough composure to close his mouth, he handed two glasses to Frank and fled into the crowd, red creeping up his neck and cheeks. 

“That asshole didn’t even apologise,” Frank grumbled. He let Matt grab his own glass, which the man did with ease, and took a sip of the champagne. 

It was at a nice, fresh temperature and the bubbles tickled his tongue and palate. Matt tasted the drink before answering, “He must have been blind not to see my glasses.” 

Frank scoffed. He didn’t want to encourage Matt too much.

They finished their drinks and found another waiter, much more polite and considerate to Matt, to take away their glasses. They both declined the second glass of champagne that was offered to them, as they wanted to stay alert. Frank couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to blow up or go wrong somewhere. There was just too much tension in the room, which kept getting hotter despite the windows being wide open. 

People hadn’t grouped into small circles yet, so Frank and Matt had to deal with strangers coming up to them, showing their teeth as if they were in a toothpaste commercial and asking about who they were and the reason for their presence. For once grateful for Matt’s snarky tone and incisive answers, Frank let him do the talking while he scanned the room and the guests, over and over. 

He spotted at least two men and a woman who had brought a gun with them, and weren’t discreet about it. He knew that being in the highest spheres of society could give you some impunity, as proven by the presence of the knife strapped to his belt and the absence of a metal detector or check for weapons at the entrance to the charity event, but still, it bewildered him how easy it could be. 

He just had to take out his knife without being seen, move closer to the woman in the red dress. Persuade her to move closer to the curtains or at an edge of the room, stab her and silence her. Take her gun, check the munitions. Take down the two men that were visibly armed. He could hide behind the massive wood tables, and the stone rail of the stairs would be large enough to protect him while he fled towards the second floor or the emergency exit. The guards were too far anyway, and even if they weren’t- 

“Frank, your fingers are twitching again.” 

Matt’s voice jolted him awake, out of his blood-stained scenario. Frank sighed and focused on his hands to prevent them from moving, and glanced at Matt quickly enough to see his concerned face before he hid it away and composed a neutral expression. 

“So, how are you feeling so far?” Matt enquired as if nothing happened. Frank knew he knew, but was glad that he didn’t address the matter and chose to ignore it. He also couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty at making Matt regret his decision to bring him here, but it seemed to be a bad day for him and his never sleeping demons.

“I’d rather be cornered and beaten up by bad guys in the pouring rain than be here,” Frank answered bluntly, surprising even himself. “Good thing you’re here with me, Red.” he added, and gratitude almost overwhelmed him when Matt winked gleefully at him. 

“Well, I guess I can take you to Hell’s Kitchen to beat up bad guys in a storm for our next date.” Before Frank could register what had just been said, Matt continued, “Enough smooth talking, I need to talk to certain people here, unfortunately. Do you want to come with me?” 

Frank took a second to think about the proposition before declining. He couldn’t bear to greet all those people, fearing at any second that one of them would probe his identity. Christ, journalists were like flies in the room, and the sound and light of camera flashes were like thunder and lightning to him. Frank couldn’t fathom how Matt was able to stand in the room, so calm and composed, when he received so much sensory input.

Matt assured him he understood, and Frank knew he was sincere. So he reluctantly let go of Matt’s arm and witnessed him slither in the crowd with ease, dodging waiters and even catching an appetiser that had started to fall off a tilted tray. _Who’s the one showing off now, huh?_

Another sigh escaped his lips, and he braced for the long wait that was coming. He decided to search for a quiet corner to hide till Matt needed him again, and started looking around. 

As they were on the first floor, most people had stayed there and hadn’t bothered to climb up the stairs. Frank decided to give the second and third floor a try, hoping one of them would be less crowded, or at least cooler. He could feel his shirt sticking to his body, but he didn’t dare to take off his vest, as it would reveal his knife. The guards had already identified him as a threat, so it was better to keep a low profile for now. 

He started moving towards the stairs, and appreciated the way people tried to get out of his path. Matt was the stealthy one, silent and tippy-toeing. Apparently he was the scary one: visible, large and opening the sea of people with the sheer intensity of his walk. And maybe his frown. 

He approached the stairs and started to climb up. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed a guard talking into his mic while staring at him: the threat was moving, better keep him in sight. At least they had good reflexes. Still, not patting down the guests was a huge mistake. Stark’s flying cans wouldn’t help shit if somebody started a mass shooting, right here. 

Frank thought about the fact that his position, up in the stairs but safely hidden behind the formidable carved banister, was probably the most ideal to start the shooting. But he pushed the thought away, clenching his teeth. Matt had told more than once that violence was a part of him, but that he didn’t need to be controlled by it. From the man who had allegedly managed not to kill anyone while beating up people every night, this surely meant something. 

Yet, as Frank had yelled at him long ago, Matt was only one bad day away from being like him. Sometimes he felt like he couldn’t tell the difference between reality - Matt at his side, the apartment they shared, the evening drinks they shared with Foggy and Karen, or with the Liebermans - and nightmares. Matt dead, finally shanked because he was too careless. Karen shot by one of the many influential people she had angered. His wife, smiling at him, radiating joy like the sun she was, suddenly gone. And the pain. The void. The silence and the everlasting cry of his soul that no one could hear, not even Matt and his super senses. 

“Hey, buddy, you alright?” 

A familiar voice helped him out of his reverie once again. Frank blinked several times, and found Foggy in front of him, a half-finished glass of champagne in one hand and the other one held in the air, ready to touch Frank’s shoulder, but only hovering. Frank moved forward slightly to accept the contact and ignored the way Matt’s friend flinched. 

He knew his past interactions with Foggy hadn’t exactly been ideal. If anything, he respected the man who had had the audacity to stand up to him, and had proved to be brave – or reckless – enough to try to defend Karen. Recklessness seemed to be a recurrent trait among Matt’s friends. 

“All good, thank you,” Frank let out with a low rumble. He smiled back at Foggy when the man made an unsure smile. As Red's friend started rambling about how the important guests were and how expensive the champagne must have been, Frank scanned the room. 

As expected, the air was cooler, yet with the same tension as the lowest floor. There were fewer people, but about the same number of waiters buzzing around. The security guards were also more hidden, in corners and shadows, but still there and alert. One of them took notice of Frank’s presence and stiffened his posture before speaking into his mic, probably spreading the information. 

“You know, Matt does that too, but he has the excuse of having the attention span of a three-year old in a candy shop, perpetual catholic guilt, and super senses on top of that. You didn’t strike me as the type to be distracted so easily.”

Frank realised Foggy must have asked him something then waited for an answer, but he was damned if he knew what the man had been talking about exactly. He growled apologetically, then pressed his fingers to his eyelids in a vain attempt to push the intrusive thoughts away.

“No pressure to answer me in a civilised manner, Matt is also a specialist at the growl. Though I must admit his are a tad more expressive than yours,” Foggy continued unperturbed.

Frank glanced at him, taken aback by Foggy’s tone. He was dressed in a cream vest and a white shirt, but sported a bow tie and polished black shoes that he was tapping on the ground. He took a sip of his champagne, winced as he swallowed, and looked back at Frank, saying, “Too warm now, I need another glass.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Frank asked, only realising as the words left his mouth that his tone was a bit aggressive, but it was too late. 

Foggy raised an eyebrow but couldn’t manage to hide how his hand stiffened on his glass. However, it was in the same calm voice that he answered, “Doing what? Talking to you?” 

Frank confirmed with a grunt, curious about the answer. Red’s friend took a little time to think about it, his lips opening and closing as if he was trying to speak but didn’t know where to start. 

“I guess I pity you,” were the words he finally let out, and anger flared in Frank at the mere thought of being pitied by someone. Sensing his trouble, Foggy swallowed before continuing. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t pity you like _that_. It’s just that it’s so obvious you’re uncomfortable here, playing a game of appearance, practicing smooth talking and being all well-dressed for the occasion.” 

He exchanged his glass for a new, fresh one as a waiter came close to them, and sipped a bit of it with a content sigh. “Matt and I are made for this. We’ve been trained for years in school and we made it our job. Hell, the man loves being the center of attention, you know him!” 

Frank only managed a small smile at those words, but it seemed sufficient to entice Foggy to keep talking. “But you… I mean, look at you! You sport that suit better than I ever could, and yet you manage to give the impression that it’s a pain in the ass for you to be here.” Foggy started to wave his glass around, making grand gestures, and Frank worried for a moment champagne was going to land on his suit. “You scan the room with such intensity and anger it literally radiates around you. No wonder no one wants to approach you. You look like a caged beast about to snap.”

The glass of champagne finally stopped moving and Foggy took another sip, as if to show his tirade was complete. He cast a look at Frank, who stayed perfectly still, even though he was in the midst of turmoil. Eventually, his throat eased enough for him to speak. 

“You’re right.” 

Judging by Foggy’s face, that wasn’t what he had expected. 

“I’m not made for this. But Red – Matt is. He… He thrives here, sometimes more than when he roams at night, and I don’t understand. I want to, because he offered me so much, you know?”

Foggy made a little nod, and Frank gathered all his courage to try to put all his thoughts into words, something he wasn’t good at. He owed it to Matt, and to Foggy who hds been brave enough to be honest with him. 

“I know I’m not good at showing him how much I care about him. I get angry when he gets wounded or tired. I can’t bring him to the cinema. He knows about all the restaurants in town. You can’t make him a surprise because he _knows_.” 

“Yeah, right? Insufferable.” Foggy snorted. 

“And he offered me so much. He brought me back, and yeah, even if we disagree on things, he’s next to me. Offering me a hand like the good Catholic he is.” 

Frank snickered and fell silent. He noticed the music of the room had switched to a more classical tone, with piano and violin. People were still swirling around in idle conversations, babbling and chattering. 

“I think you underestimate yourself,” Foggy stated calmly. He turned his head to look Frank in the eyes and smiled. “That wasn’t something I expected to say today, and yet.”

Frank stayed quiet, once again surprised by Red’s friend. It appeared like he had underestimated him, but the extent of his error kept increasing. 

“You’re here for Matt the same way he’s here for you. If I’m honest for a second, you’re both a bit broken.” 

Frank couldn’t deny that fact; the screaming voices in his head were proof, as was the poor state of his knuckles. 

“But you’re helping each other. I don’t know for how long, but I hope it will last.” Foggy took a sip of his champagne before adding, with an intensity Frank had never witnessed before, “If you hurt him, be assured you will regret it. I may not have the physical attributes to fight you that way, but the advantage of being the way I am is that I found plenty of other ways to do it.” 

The tension vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Foggy beamed at Frank like nothing happened. Then, he emptied his glass and walked away, saying, “I have some people to greet and you don’t want to talk to them. Hold on, it’ll be over soon!” 

He quickly disappeared in the crowd, leaving Frank alone and with more questions than before. But, in a strange way, he also was reassured. Now, he just had to stay here till the gala ended, and then he’ll be able to enjoy a good night of rest for once. Perhaps he could try and get up before Red to cook him a little something special for breakfast, hm?

~°~ 

“Ah, I knew I’d find you here.” 

A soft voice startled him, and Frank almost jumped to his feet, before relaxing as he identified who was coming. Matt sat down next to him, folded his legs under him and closed his vest with a shiver. They stayed silent for a moment before Frank found the courage to speak up. 

“I’m sorry, Red. I had to get out.” 

“Hey, I’m not blaming you. You already agreed to come, and to wear a suit, which is more than I could possibly expect from you. Don’t feel guilty,” Matt replied quickly, turning to face Frank. “Besides, even I was reaching my limits back there.”

A particularly strong breeze made them both shiver, tousling Matt’s hair in a glorious mess. He took off his glasses and gently put them in one of his vest pockets. 

“You wanna talk about it, or do you want me to distract you from it?” Matt asked in a gentle voice. 

“Nah, I can talk. That guy was an asshole anyway, better talking than punching him in the face.” 

“Well, now I’m glad you got out.” 

Frank started to relate what had led to him needing to get out of the room so badly he’d taken the emergency stairs to the roof three at a time before spending almost an hour sitting up here alone, breathing heavily, to try and cool down. 

After Foggy had left him alone, he had stayed still for a moment, thinking about what they had discussed. People had looked at him sometimes, nothing too obvious but enough for him to detect the attention. He had tried to dismiss it at first, but when it had become unbearable, he had decided to take a look at the third floor of the venue. 

At first it had sounded like a good idea: it had been far less packed than the other two, and the temperature had been comfortable again. 

But what he hadn’t known was that the third floor was apparently reserved for special guests. Not openly though, but one could come here only if they had a reason to do so. Not by wandering aimlessly and trying to kill time.

So he had been accosted by a group of people, whom he had never seen or heard of before, and they had tried to include him in their conversation. At first it had been easy enough for him to pretend he was interested: they had discussed the gala, which was actually sponsored by Tony Stark himself in aid of various associations protecting and helping children. Frank hadn’t been aware of that, and his consideration for the crazy engineer had improved a little bit. 

But the tide had turned and he had found himself trapped under a constant flow of questions, which had turned to be very personal. 

A part of him had started to panic: did those people know who he really was? Were they only making assumptions? What to do about the woman who said he looked like a former soldier? And the man who had pointed out that his colour choice was close to the Marines’ uniform? 

The part of him that still had wanted to please Matt despite being quite distressed had tried to answer as smoothly as possible, but he wasn’t good at that. Yet he hadn’t wanted to give up. So he had given them short answers, to deter them from asking more and more. He hadn’t wanted to appear downright rude, to protect Matt. It wouldn’t have bothered him had he been alone, far from it. But Matt’s job relied on his reputation, so he had had to be careful.

Some people in the group encircling him had also felt familiar to him. Hadn’t that lady in the purple dress followed him from floor to floor? He had been convinced the man with a shitty green suit which had made him look like a hideous frog was a journalist - he recalled seeing him taking photos at the entrance. 

He had thought of escaping by pretending an urgent need to go to the bathroom, but he had given up on the idea as soon as one of the men had brought up the fact that Frank hadn’t drunk much all evening. It had confirmed his suspicion of being watched. 

Now that he could think about it more clearly-headedly, it must have been related to the fact he hadn’t had a glass in hand at all during the conversation, whereas all the others had gone through at least one, if not several. At the time, it had just felt threatening.

He had become sweaty, and his vest and shirt had started to stifle his movements, sticking to his skin and strangling his neck. The sound of his breathing had soon covered all the rest, to the point he had had increasing difficulty trying to figure out what had been said to him. 

Making a wrong move and spilling some champagne on his shirt had been another idea that had come to him, but he hadn’t wanted to resort to ruining his clothes again, and it wouldn’t have ensured his privacy: the men around him would just have insisted on following him to the bathroom to help him clean up. 

His opening to leave had come from something that hadn’t even come to his mind: Stark. Judging by the ruckus that had built up suddenly on the lower floors, soon followed by the hiss of the speakers hidden in every corner of the venue and the voice of the engineer, he had finally arrived and, in his usual fashion, he had arrived with much fanfare. 

The crowd had started to move all at once, an irresistible movement towards the stairs to descend and try to see Iron Man. In a split second, nobody had been looking at Frank anymore, who had jumped on the opportunity to linger behind until he had been almost alone. Before anyone could notice, he had opened the emergency exit and had fled, his heart pounding. 

He hated to think he had failed and hadn’t been able to stay till the end. He had thought he could do it, that he was stronger than that. He had fooled himself. 

“Hey, first of all, I don’t consider this a failure. Social events are exhausting even for me, and you can always try another time. Second, there’s a victory to celebrate tonight!” Red exclaimed teasingly. 

Frank let out a grunt, as he didn’t see anything worth celebrating, let alone something that could be described as a victory. 

“You didn’t stain your suit!” 

And the man had the audacity to wink at him saying that. 

~°~

On the way back home, although they both stayed quiet and didn’t switch on the radio, Frank let himself drown into the noise of the engine and the soft breathing of Matt next to him, who had fallen into a slumber. No roaming the roofs tonight, they needed a night of rest after that. 

He was still a bit mad at himself for not being strong enough. He had wanted to be there for Matt. But they had both accepted the fact that they didn’t thrive through the same things. And Foggy’s words were surprisingly kind to him. 

He could always work on it. A failure once, even if it was bitter, didn’t mean it was impossible. And he was definitely preparing Red’s breakfast tomorrow. That he could do, right? 

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a moment and enjoyed your reading, feel free let me know your thoughts in the comments! Thank you~


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